Whiskey and Sympathy
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: It's two in the afternoon and Sam needs a drink.


Title: Whiskey and Sympathy

Summary: It's two in the afternoon and Sam needs a drink.

A/N: A missing scene for DALDOM. Just because I was angry and because Sam's actions so often make no sense so we're left to figure out his reasons for him. Beta'ed by geminigrl11 and Rachelly.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Sometimes I wouldn't even want to claim them.

-o-

It's two in the afternoon and Sam needs a drink.

That's not usually Sam's thing. Alcohol has never been appealing to him, not like it has to Dean.

He'd watched his father drink through down times at home, alone and hard, a bottle of Jack in his hand as he huddled on a dingy motel room sofa. Sam had known enough to keep his distance then; his father always looked so sad, so old, so rusted, that Sam wondered what his mother ever saw in him.

Dean likes to drink, though, and always has. Sam remembers Dean's early hunts and how beer was his way of celebrating. Dean was too young to drink, and Sam was old enough to know it, but if Dean could kill evil things, then surely Dean could handle a few cans. Dean was always happy when he drank, smiling and full of life, though the way he held the bottle looked just like their father, almost like it belonged there, and sometimes, Sam was jealous of that ease.

At college, there'd been parties, but Sam had rarely gone. Willingly, anyway. His friends took him sometimes, and Jess liked to go. She never liked beer, she said it tasted funny, but she liked wine with dinner, always red and sweet and Sam liked the way it made her giggle. Alcohol was useful then, to loosen him up, to help him forget, to help him overcome all the failures and rejections that had gotten him there.

Now, though, it's two in the afternoon and Sam needs a drink.

He didn't drink when Jess died, he didn't drink when his father died. He didn't even drink when _he_ died, though looking back he kind of wishes he had. Because that's when it all fell apart, he knows, that's where the train went off the tracks. That's when Sam lost himself, and he's been walking around for months without knowing how to find himself again.

Cold Oak was his last stand, his only stand, his moment of glory when he stood up against the demon, his destiny, and all the plans in the world to make him evil. He'd been strong, if only for that moment, and Sam doesn't even care that it got him killed because it was still_ his_ choice, _his_ mistake, and no one had made it for him. He'd died a _good _person. He can't be sure he came back the same.

Because he's angry and he's useless and he's hot and cold and lukewarm all at once. His brother's going to hell, and Sam needs to save him, wants to save him, doesn't know how to save him, can't save him. Some days, he researches until he falls asleep on the books. Other days, he can't even look at a book at all. Then, sometimes, he's mad at Dean for doing this to him, to both of them, for not realizing that some things are worse than death.

A lot of things.

The bar isn't crowded, but it's only two in the afternoon, so Sam doesn't expect it to be. He doesn't know where Dean is, and right now he just can't care. He hopes that Dean is off somewhere having fun at least, flirting or sleeping or eating or something else so utterly _Dean_ because Dean deserves that.

It's not hard to sit down, it's not even hard to order the whiskey. The bartender doesn't know him, doesn't care about him, and whiskey is Dean's drink, and Sam wishes like hell he could be like his brother. Noble and good and dead set on never failing. Even when that means defying death, on dragging Sam's ass back from the Great Beyond. Because that's just Dean Winchester for you. Nothing stops him. Not hell or high water--

Well, maybe hell. They might all find out.

And that's the wrong way to think. He has to save Dean, he has to pull Dean back just like Dean pulled him back. Sam needs to be the good brother, he needs to not be too little, too late. He needs to do something _right_ even if it means getting himself dirty in the process. A year ago, his only fear was going evil. Now his only fear is letting Dean down.

He takes a drink of whiskey and it burns down his throat.

Dean's scared of dying. Dean's scared of living. Dean's scared of _him_. And Sam doesn't have anything to show for it. He doesn't have a lead beyond Ruby, who's elusive as hell, and he doesn't have a hope in hell. All his contacts think so, and Bobby only looks at him with this sick kind of pity that makes Sam want to curl up and die.

He takes another drink.

Maybe he wishes he'd never come back at all. The only thing that ever made sense was being dead, was getting killed, was dying doing the right thing, no matter how stupid it was. Dean always said he was the selfish one, so really, dying and leaving Dean would have been true to his character.

The whiskey sloshes in his cup and he grits his teeth. He doesn't have a choice in that. Not anymore. He made his stand, and Dean undid it, so why the hell couldn't he feel _grateful_?

Why the hell is it two in the afternoon and he's drinking _whiskey_? Jess would be horrified, Dad would be surprised, and Dean would just be disappointed.

Because Dean doesn't think about things like this. Dean doesn't worry about himself. He worries about Sam, he does anything and everything for Sam, and Sam can't even live up to that deal, can't even find a way out of it.

He takes another drink, swallowing hard and closing his eyes.

Dean's deal was stupid, but it wasn't selfish. It was blind, it was duty-based, but it wasn't selfish. His older brother is many things, but selfish isn't one of them, and the fact of the matter is that he can't do this alone. Neither of them can. They die together or the live together and the only way out of the deal is together. Because the research makes Sam's head spin and the load is too much to carry and he _needs_ Dean. He needs him, and Dean still can't bring himself help Sam out with that. Dean still doesn't care enough about himself to do that.

And Sam is trying to get drunk in the afternoon when his brother is dying and it's all for him and there's no answer except that he needs Dean.

It doesn't make sense, and Sam doesn't think it has to. Because he was dead and now he's alive and Dean's dying and Sam doesn't know how to stop it and Dean doesn't even seem to care and it's two in the afternoon and Sam is getting drunk.

That's all there is to it, last stands and drinking and brothers who should be more or less or everything.

So Sam holds the glass to his lips and tips it back and lets the whiskey burn him all the way through.


End file.
